Tears of An Angel
by shh the movie is starting
Summary: I saw without seeing. I felt without feeling. I lived without living. I simply existed. In such a perfect world, a world exempt from pain and misery, how could I? How could I truly be happy in a perfect utopia of happiness?
1. Prologue

I saw without seeing. I felt without feeling. I lived without living. I simply existed. In such a perfect world, a world exempt from pain and misery, how could I? How could I truly be happy in a perfect utopia of happiness?


	2. Unharmed

I ran, my long, slender legs easily covering the far distance. I continued to run, not stopping for rest or water. I had no need to. The dryness in my mouth I should have felt, the ache in my thighs I should have felt, and the shortness of breath I should have felt was not apparent in me. I felt the motion of running, the lifting of my legs, the expel and intake of breath. But, I did not feel the pain. So why would I stop?

I had no destination and I had no motivation. So why did I run? I have yet to answer that question myself.

The landscape passed by me in blurs of color, my only indication I was truly running. The colors blended as my speed increased until it was one solitary color. In the back of my mind, I faintly questioned whether I would ever stop this tireless trek. If I would not stop because of pain, if I would not stop because I reached a destination, why would I stop?

More often of late, I had gone on these "excursions," where I would run on and on. It seemed there wasn't anything in this world that could stop me, not even time. There was no time in this world. After all, the only indication we feeble humans have of time is the sun rising and setting and the nearing of death. If the sun did not set in this world, if I did not age, where was the time?

On these "excursions," I felt empty and apathetic. I suppose some people feel powerful when running, and others feel weak and pathetic. But, I felt nothing. I did not run to prove my existence. I don't know why I run. But it seems these "excursions," simply proved I didn't live.

I felt no pain, and pain is the only honest, truthful sign we are living. The rise of my chest breathing proved nothing, nor did the faint sound of my beating heart. These were loopholes of life. People in deep comas, people who are vegetables have all these signs. But, they were not living. Living was not existing. Living was not simply taking up space in the world. Living was seeing, smelling, tasting, and most of all feeling.

However, as unstoppable as my "excursions" felt, I always was eventually stopped, usually from tripping over some rock or the like. And such an event occurred this time also, drawing me out of my thoughts. It's hard to tell, even now, what I had tripped on then. I suppose the bottom of my pants caught on some stray branch or perhaps my foot slipped on the uneven terrain. But whether the cause was one of these options or some other, the effect was the same.

Deeply absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't notice I had tripped until I was on the ground. I looked down at my knee and found a small pebble ingrained in my flesh. It sounds very painful but it neither felt nor looked painful. There was no blood and I probably would never have noticed the pebble if my eyes hadn't drifted towards the area.

Using my short, clipped fingernails, I peeled the rock from my skin. The skin underneath was unmarred, there wasn't even an indentation or even some loose dirt. In fact, no where on my body did it suggest I had fallen. My clothes were neat and in place, not a single wrinkle or stain. There was no scraped or broken skin. The only reason I myself knew I had fallen was I was no longer running.

But, I was rather used to occurrences like this. It seemed I was invincible. Now, I say this with a rather dull tone. Where many would be excited and filling their heads with silly ideas like superheroes over the prospect of being indestructible, I was simply bored. It was commonplace in my world. After all, I had no one to compare myself to. No way to realize this was strange. After all, in my world, I was the only existing human and animal and it had been like that for as long as I could remember.


	3. Undetered

I tossed and turned in my bed, curling and uncurling, flipping this way and that in a futile attempt to sleep. And of course my clothing and my bed covers remained neat as always as if they had just been ironed.

Now I always had some trouble sleeping for I never felt tired and the sun was as bright as always. I usually only slept because I had run out of things to do or wanted to escape my thoughts. This time, the reason was the latter. For some unexplainable reason, I could not get my earlier fall out of my head. It wasn't the first time I had tripped without getting hurt, and usually I forget about it, labeling it as an everyday event. But today, my mind refused to forget it, urging me to test the limits of my invincibility.

Finally, I gave up my attempt at sleeping. I rose from my bed, not bothering to make it. I knew that next time I came in; it would magically be made by some unknown hands.

I trotted down the stairs towards the kitchen. The stairs did not creak, it did not squeak. Every step was evenly spaced, the epitome of great craftsmanship. But, of course I did not know this then. This was the only staircase I had been on at that point in time.

But, not just this staircase, it seemed this whole house was perfect. It was big and small at the same time, depending on how you looked at it. It was open and airy and yet cozy. There wasn't much furniture, and yet it was furnished perfectly. Its perfection must have been dizzying to an outsider, but thankfully there were no outsiders in my world. There was only me.

When I finally reached the kitchen, my eyes eagerly scanned the kitchen for hazardous items. Of course, seeing as how I had never gotten hurt, I wouldn't know what was hazardous. But, I looked all the same. I felt a sort of hot, bubbly feeling in my lower stomach. It seemed to expand like a balloon, filling my limbs with a tingling sensation. I had no name for it and it was the first time I had felt it. Now, I know what it was. It was _excitement, _excitement for the unknown.

At first, I tried to make a criteria of dangerous objects. But, I quickly gave up on the idea. What was dangerous? Was anything dangerous? I started to doubt this whole experiment. What put this idea in my mind? I couldn't be hurt with anything and that was that. And yet, some small forgotten part nagged at me. I bickered with it for a few moments. There was absolutely no reason for this. How would I even know I was hurt? Would I see something? Would I feel something? Feel something other than the cold smoothness I felt whenever I touched anything? No matter the color, size, or material, the texture was always the same in this world, a cold smoothness.

Finally, I gave up arguing, exasperated. I gave in and simply gathered anything and everything from the kitchen, knives, forks, spoons, pans, pots, whisks, and things I didn't even know I owned. Everything I gathered I dumped on the dining room table. When I finally finished ransacking my kitchen, I sat at the table, my back straight and my shoulder pulled back.

Once again I returned to my original thoughts. What was I accomplishing? I couldn't be changed. Nothing could be changed. I was trying to break the laws of my world. A law I proved everyday. This was pointless. And yet, still that nagging part urged me on. Sighing, I grabbed the first object, a metal whisk. I stared at it, trying to get an answer from it. How do I change myself with it? Did I push it? Did I rub it across my skin? Or perhaps some unknown method I didn't know of? If it was the last option, I had no hope.

But it seems that nagging part of me was rather persuasive, because regardless of the impossibility of it all, I continued on. I pushed; I rubbed and nothing happened. My skin was still pale and smooth. The whisk was still solid and clean.

I sighed and picked up the next object, a frying pan. I repeated my process. I pushed; I rubbed. Again, nothing changed. So, I picked up the next object.

This time it was a rolling batter. By, now I had gotten fairly frustrated. What was I trying to accomplish? I did the whole process again, the pushing and the rubbing. Anger built up within me, a fiery feeling that spread through my whole body, controlling my actions, pleading to be let out. And I answered its call.

I lifted the rolling batter high above my head and brought it down with all my strength onto my arm. With a thud, it connected. I did this over and over, bringing down the batter down again and again. Finally, I stopped, closing my eyes in anticipation.

I paused for a few moments. Then, I opened one eye, and then the other. I sighed, disappointed with what I saw. My arm lay, unaffected and unchanged. With a heavy heart, I picked up the next object. It lay on top of a red cookbook, gleaming in the light with some sort of magical sparkle. It was a knife.


End file.
